


Don't Let Me Go (Daniel/Reader)

by e_n_silvermane



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: (Daniel is also the therapy), Daniel has a therapist, F/M, Fluff, For those of you looking to comfort Daniel, I'm trash at summaries so my apologies, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Nightmares, OC is not a huge part of the storyline, Reader has a therapist, WARNING: self-loathing, major angst here, reader comforts and is comforted, reader had a bad previous relationship, warning: depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-17
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-10-11 18:10:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17451872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/e_n_silvermane/pseuds/e_n_silvermane
Summary: (Y/N) has been through some serious stuff and has developed abandonment issues, much like a certain android. Dr. Santiago, the ever-helpful psychologist, recognizes this, and thus a friendship (and much more) is born.





	Don't Let Me Go (Daniel/Reader)

**Author's Note:**

> FINAL WARNINGS:  
> depression, suicidal ideation, implied/referenced self harm, nightmares, and a TON of psychological damage. Stay safe, my lovelies <3

“I don’t know. Sometimes it’s just...I feel overwhelmed, you know?” She tugged at her sleeves nervously, avoiding eye contact with her therapist. Despite knowing Dr. Santiago for a while, (Y/N) still got anxious when visiting for their bi-weekly appointments.  
“I see.” Dr. Santiago’s hair was sleek and shiny under the fluorescent lights. Her hand flickered as she twirled a pen quietly and clicked it every now and again. “How long has it been since you’ve cleaned your room? Living in a cluttered space can make you feel as if you’re…” She gestured broadly, which was her way of showing she was looking for the right words. “...losing control.”  
(Y/N) thought for a moment. “You make a good point.”  
“How long has it been?”  
“Uh…” When she began to count on her fingers, Dr. Santiago stopped her.  
“Kitchen. When did you last clean your kitchen?”  
“Huh...I did the dishes last week, if that counts…?”  
“Living room? Basement?”  
“Well-”  
“How about the study?”  
(Y/N) cringed visibly. “You know I don’t go in there anymore.”  
“I know why you don’t go in there anymore,” the doctor continued, “but I don’t agree with your reasoning. I think you should keep the room open. Leaving it closed off in your house is symbolism for what is going on in your head. You’re trying to repress it.”  
Silence from the girl.  
Dr. Santiago leaned forward. “Tell me again why you don’t go into that room.”  
“Do I have to?”  
“Yes.”  
She took a shaky breath and tried not to delve too far into recalling the memories that had forced her to close off her room, to close off her life, and to lose someone she loved. Halfway through her retelling she began to sob uncontrollably, as had happened in so many previous sessions.  
Dr. Santiago nodded calmly and offered a tissue, helping to stem the tears from (Y/N)’s eyes. This wasn’t the worst breakdown she had ever had. In all honesty, this was a lot better than what normally happened when she was asked why she never went into the study. Normally she wouldn’t even be able to utter a single word, and just sat there in silence, rocking back and forth while she tried so hard not to remember, not to cry. Certainly this was better. A way of venting frustrations, if you will.  
“(Y/N), would you be willing to try a new therapy tactic we’ve developed?” Dr. Santiago asked gently.  
She peeked over the tissue, (e/c) eyes glittering with unspoken sadness and a spark of curiosity. “A therapy tactic?”  
“Yes.” Dr. Santiago gave (Y/N)’s tea mug a nudge, and as if she had just now remembered it existed, (Y/N) picked it up and took a long sip from it. When the mug had been set back down safely, the doctor continued. “I believe what you have is an abandonment issue. (Ex/n)’s sudden departure was too much for you to handle in your already…” she waved her hand widely again, looking for a word- ah, yes, “hyper-anxious state. You nearly drove yourself crazy trying to get him back, and the wonderful friends you have who brought you in-” (Y/N) bowed her head in shame at this. At the time, she wasn’t even stable enough to know she was unstable. “-noticed how...clingy, let’s say, you got. It’s interesting. It’s very interesting. Because I have another client with the same issue.” Dr. Santiago peered over her glasses at a piece of paper in her manila folder. “An android, actually.”  
“Android?” (Y/N) had never considered that an android might have the same psychological issues as a human, despite the fact that the deviant uprising had taken place recently. She figured that once deviants got their emotions sorted out, they were good to go. And certainly they could untangle their own emotions. Being partially machine, they were surely more aware of everything going on in their own heads than humans, right?  
“Yes, android. Several of my colleagues have attempted to get their patients to bond with an android that has the same or similar issues, in order to examine how they get along, how they survive alongside each other, how they react to one’s negativity or perhaps positivity—things like that. Though if you wish your troubles to be private, I understand.”  
(Y/N) thought a moment. “How would this therapy tactic work?”  
“Well, for the androids, this is a benefit to their mental health, a moral obligation and an occupation as well. We pay them a few dollars here and there to help their live-ins—our human patients. It’s like having a therapeutic roommate.”  
“Any...um...criteria to be met?”  
Dr. Santiago smiled. “Only a willingness to help, dear.”  
(Y/N) considered it some more, nodded slowly, and said, “So who would be...who would be my android?”

☽

“My bedroom’s upstairs, yours is down the hall on this floor. Kitchen’s there, so’s the dining room. There’s a bathroom upstairs, next to the sun room.” (Y/N) rattled off the list of rooms in the house, pointing here and there, striding to the kitchen to set down the groceries she’d gotten on the way home. “I’m not big on androids, really—so correct me if I’m wrong—but I don’t think you guys need to eat…? If you do you can have whatever’s in the cupboard.”  
“We don’t,” Daniel’s voice was soft. That was something (Y/N) had yet to get used to: straining her ears to hear every word.  
“Oh. Well, cool. If you need anything, just give me a shout.”  
He noticed the slight tremor in her fingertips, but let it be. Both of them were very nervous, having only met a few times in sessions with Dr. Santiago, who was right when she said they were very alike. Daniel could see the resemblance in the way she held herself, small and turned in, very closed off. It was almost like looking into a mirror.  
He shook himself and focused back in on reality. (Y/N) was staring at him funnily, like he had missed something.  
“What is it?” He said, and she leaned forward a little, tilting her head as if to hear him better. He repeated himself.  
“You zoned out for a second there. You okay?” was her response.  
He considered the question. He wasn’t panicked, wasn’t terrified, wasn’t being consumed by ugly feelings of hatred and betrayal. So yes, he supposed he was okay.  
Once Daniel nodded and his LED returned to blue, (Y/N) gave a little sigh and began to put the groceries away. Silently, the android helped her.  
“You don’t talk much, do you?”  
Daniel shook his head no.  
“Me too, but I think it’s kind of like...I don’t need to. Why fill the empty space with words, you know?”  
Daniel did know, but that wasn’t what his problem was. Every time he spoke his thirium pump started and felt like it was doing cartwheels. 'You could hurt someone with words,' his mind told him. 'Your thoughts turn into words, your words turn into actions, and your actions...well, we know they can’t exactly be forgiven easily.'  
Her laugh broke him out of his trance. “Funny how I’m filling the empty space with words now, then.”  
He smiled a little at her, a spark of amusement in his stormy blue eyes. “I don’t mind.”  
Cereal in the cupboard, raspberries in the fridge. Crackers and cookies in the pantry.  
“I used to be a housekeeping android,” Daniel mentioned, and (Y/N) hummed in recognition.  
“I suppose you wouldn’t mind helping me clean, then?”  
“Not at all. I find it almost...soothing. It’s a very repetitive task. You can get lost in your thoughts easily.”  
“And that’s a good thing?” She sounded doubtful.  
Daniel blinked. “For daydreamers, yes.”  
“Ah, I see.”  
He settled for washing dishes while she dusted the cupboards and collected garbage in the bin. Snow drifted steadily outside the window, collecting on the sill and on the birdhouse in her yard. It was a peaceful sight. The sky was darkening already and something twinged and reminded Daniel of that night.  
He did his best to ignore it and put all his energy into scrubbing plates and silverware until they shone. Several of the dishes looked like they’d come from different sets, some with a gold, lace-like design around the edge, some with a navy blue and white finish. One was a bright scarlet. He wondered vaguely where it had come from: in all the plates and bowls and saucers and mugs stacked up on the counters, there wasn’t another one quite like it. Oddly enough, it reminded him of Dr. Santiago. She seemed like a very scarlet sort of person.  
“Identifying people by plate colors,” Daniel muttered to himself. “That’s new.”  
“What?”  
Shoot, (Y/N) had been listening. “I—do you—do you ever look at a color and think of someone?”  
Her expression darkened with sadness. “...yeah, I do. I get that.”  
“This red...it reminds me of Dr. Santiago.” He spoke carefully, almost dancing around every syllable.  
She brightened up a little, sneaking past him to dip a washcloth in the soapy water. “I think you’re right. Martha is a scarlet kind of woman.”  
There was a short silence while she washed the dining room table, but she soon broke it by asking,  
“What color are you?”  
Daniel thought for a moment. “Grey.”  
She looked at him funnily again and he wished he could recognize expressions as well as others seemed to be able to. “That’s...huh. That’s weird.”  
“Why?”  
“That’s what I was gonna say my color was.”  
The android considered this, and nodded slowly. “If I may say so, (Y/N), I think you’re more of a [favorite color].”  
“I hope that’s a good thing,” She laughed dryly, picking up the various things that had been left by the dining room table for much too long—a pair of mittens here, some mystery novels there, a dollar or two. A jean jacket she’d been missing for a while.  
“It is.” Daniel took comfort in the domesticity of it all. He finished rinsing off the dishes and dried his hands, quietly offering to help (Y/N) put back her belongings.  
“I mean, if you want to. You can just toss them on my bed. It’s the first door on the right, second level.” She took up a clean dish towel and began to dry the plates and silverware. The blond man obediently walked upstairs, just about reaching the seventh step when she shouted “thank you!” from the kitchen.  
“It’s no problem,” he said, knowing she couldn’t hear.  
Usually people’s bedrooms say a lot about them. (Y/N)’s room was no different. Her bed was a simple pipe-frame with a thin mattress and several (f/c) blankets tossed over it—her bad posture and habit of rubbing her lower back made sense now—and the room was painted grey. Primer, Daniel noted. She had been going to paint the room, but left the primer instead. What that said about her, he wasn’t quite sure yet.  
Daniel did as he was told, laying her jacket and mittens carefully on her bed, tucking the two dollars into one of her mystery novels and leaving those on her pillow. (Y/N)’s room was peculiarly bare, but there were some details that he found interesting. A guitar peeked out from under the bed. Her closet doors had several slats missing, and he could see boxes and clothes piled up in no particular order. The top of her dresser was mostly bare and dusty, except for her phone (which was charging) and a few hair binders.  
Interesting, indeed.  
The rest of the night was fairly uneventful. Daniel offered to make (Y/N) dinner, but she politely declined, saying she’d much rather go to bed early. So, at seven-thirty in the evening, both of them retreated to their respective rooms.  
The guest bedroom she was allowing him to stay in was very nicely furnished, not a bit like hers. Though he really had no need for it, there was a lovely queen-sized bed covered in tan fleece blankets and a mountain of satin pink pillows. The walls were a soothing butter yellow, and the lacy curtains were stark white, complimenting the midnight brown doors and drawers beautifully. But it wasn’t hers.  
Daniel liked it well enough, to be sure, but he found that her room—drab and grey-toned as it was—comforted him in a way he couldn’t yet understand. Oh well. He’d be spending the night here anyway.  
At one in the morning, he went into stasis.  
Back at home with Emma and her parents, Daniel almost never had time to go into stasis mode. There was always something to do. He’d tuck Emma in, read her a story, sing her a lullaby and say goodnight, then he’d wash, dry, and put away the dishes so Caroline could have some time to cross-stitch and read before bed. He’d remind John not to stay up too late, and check up on him around 10:00 to give him another nudge to go to sleep. He swept, he dusted. He rearranged the books. He wiped down the table until it was positively shining, and then, after the family had gone to bed, he made sure all the furniture was clean and straightened out neatly. He did laundry in the apartment’s basement level, went out to get some late night groceries (as Caroline did have a habit of forgetting to buy breakfast foods), and spent the rest of the time waiting for his family to wake up.  
Now he didn’t know what to do with himself. Before, stasis had been a blank space, a sort of white blur accompanied by a soft blue light languidly blinking. Sort of like a loading screen you could stare at calmly for hours and hours. After the incident, though, Daniel found that stasis mode was no longer the pleasant blankness of an absent mind. Now stasis was dark. Pitch black. Screams sounded. Gunshots followed. Even though he was built to never feel pain, he could swear that in these moments, there was an exploding stinging in his jaw and an even worse stabbing in his side. But these weren’t dreams, no. They were memories.  
This time, stasis mode lasted him maybe an hour before he woke up screaming. (Y/N) had already scrambled down the stairs and burst through his bedroom door by the time he stopped yelling “I don’t wanna die! Please, I don’t wanna die!” and instead curled up in the corner, gasping for air he didn’t need and mumbling something about someone lying to him.  
“Hey,” (Y/N) ran to his side and dropped to her knees on the hardwood floor next to him. “Hey, hey, Daniel, it’s okay. It’s okay. You’re awake. You’re here.”  
She wasn’t sure what to do with herself, exactly. Unwelcome memories of comforting her previous lover after a night terror came flooding back to her. She tried to push them away and focused instead on Daniel, his shaking hands and his pale blond hair. Quietly, (Y/N) spoke to him and reassured him until he felt calm enough to take his hands away from his face. In the silence between sniffles and tiny gasps, she realized how quickly her own heart was thumping, remembered hearing the first scream and jolting awake and being scared, remembered what little Dr. Santiago told her about Daniel:  
'"If he has nightmares, don’t worry too much. They seem to be commonplace. I think with a little time they’ll disappear—he’s been through a lot. Take care of him, though, and he’ll take care of you. Daniel is very good at giving back.'"  
“You have been through a lot, haven’t you?” (Y/N) murmured and pulled Daniel’s trembling frame in for a hug. For once, she wasn’t reminded of (ex/n).  
The android nodded against her shoulder.  
“Yeah, you have. But you’re going to be okay. You got that? You’ll be just fine.”  
When she finally pulled back, the soft moonlight made his face glow with a sadness that took her breath away. His eyes were startlingly blue, too. Before they had looked like a stormy sky, and now—  
Now they were like wilted cornflowers, shattered sapphires. They most certainly weren’t her eyes, but they reflected her deepest secrets and worst pains, and most of all, they told her that he was scared. Sad. Longing for something she didn’t know how to find, how to give him.  
“I don’t want to go back into stasis,” He said after a long while.  
“Then you don’t have to.” (Y/N) stood up and offered him her hand. “I’ve got things we can do.”  
And that was how, on the first night they’d spent together in (Y/N)’s house, they ended up on the couch at four A.M., watching old Disney movies from the early 2000s. About an hour and a half into the first movie, she fell asleep with her head resting on Daniel’s shoulder. He swore he’d never move again. Well, until she woke up, that is.  
When the second movie ended, he switched off the TV, and gave himself time to wonder. Maybe Dr. Santiago had a point when she went on about how alike they were. Something about (Y/N)’s (e/c) eyes just seemed so...familiar. A good kind of familiar, to be sure, but he still couldn’t quite place it.  
Eventually he’d figure it out, that much he knew.

☽

Something was off when she first woke up that day. (Y/N) knew it. Even Daniel could sense it.  
“Are you alright?” He asked as she picked up her coat and slipped on her hat with the intention of leaving for work without breakfast. This was the third day in a row that she’d done that, but he didn’t have to know.  
She paused, had to think about it—but after a second or two she smiled and said “Yeah, why?”  
“Just wondering.” Daniel hummed, returning to the pan he’d been scouring.  
“Well, thanks, but I’m fine. I’ll see you later!”  
“Goodbye, (Y/N).”  
And out the door she went. The house was now Daniel’s. Although really he would never allow himself to think that—he was just a glorified maid, and he liked it that way. However, this glorified maid now had the power to listen to soft music while he worked, and also had the freedom to read and attempt for the hundredth time to play (Y/N)’s guitar.  
In fact, that’s what Daniel was doing when (Y/N) got home. He was sitting on the couch, trying desperately to keep up with the information his processor was firing at him—which chords were which, which finger strummed what string on what note. The song, a pretty generic version of La Cucaracha, came out sounding very distorted. For the hundredth day in row, Daniel was upset, and set the guitar down only to notice that (Y/N) was trudging upstairs silently, slouched forward in apparent misery so much so that it looked like she was going to have to crawl up the rest of the steps.  
“(Y/N)?” He asked. “Aren’t you going to have dinner?”  
“Not hungry.” She mumbled.  
All it took was a quick scan. “That’s a lie, you haven’t eaten since last night. You need some food in your system.”  
(Y/N) just sat down on a carpeted step and looked drained of all energy.  
“Alright, I can see you’re kind of at war with yourself here. I’ll make you something. Come sit,” He patted the couch cushion next to the guitar, and with a begrudging expression, she heaved herself to her feet once more and climbed onto the couch, curling up in a ball.  
“Are you in pain?”  
She shook her head no. Daniel hummed skeptically, but went off to the kitchen to make a quick dinner of rice, beans, tomatoes and avocado. While the rice and beans simmered and boiled on the stove, he cut some strawberries and bananas and offered those in a small bowl to her. She ate a few slices of fruit and set the dish on the coffee table when he went back into the kitchen.  
The hot rice and beans mingled deliciously with the cold tomato and avocado, and Daniel—with a sort of culinary artist’s flourish—chopped up cilantro and added it to the finished plate. Bringing it out to (Y/N), he could see she was somewhere else entirely, her eyes glazed over with quickly-collecting tears. The strawberries and bananas sat, almost completely untouched, in their little glass bowl.  
“Hey,” He said, setting down the plate in front of her and presenting her with a fork. “Time to eat.”  
So she did. Her hand shook slightly as she raised the fork to her mouth and forced herself to consume the delicious meal, which (to her surprise and guilt) wasn’t at all hard to do. Daniel sat beside her, watching her out of the corner of his eye, worried but trying to stay calm.  
“Why haven’t you been eating?” Daniel asked without looking at her, thinking that perhaps direct eye contact would frighten her. The stress level he saw blinking at 70% in his vision wasn’t the most optimistic indicator.  
Make that 75%.  
“I don’t know,” She whimpered and tucked her knees to her chest again, tossing the fork down on the plate with a clink.  
“There must be a reason.” He pried. 80%.  
(Y/N) put her face down and murmured something into her legs.  
Daniel waited a bit before asking her to repeat what she’d said, and though he certainly could have predicted the reaction he would get, there was something still shocking about seeing (Y/N) throw her head back and nearly tear out her own hair with the force of her grasp.  
“It’s sick,” she whispered furiously. Daniel listened patiently, nervously. “It’s sick and I don’t think you would understand. No offense meant, of course, I know you know about humans and all, but...it’s...just…” It was taking all of her willpower now not to run around the house screaming like a crazy person. All the anger she felt was directed towards herself and if she could just shriek, maybe the tension would let go. If she ran, maybe she would be able to get away from it all.  
“Please tell me.” Daniel’s arms closed around her in a tight embrace and the need to get away evaporated into thin air.  
Slowly, she let her hands fall from her head, untangling her hair. “I guess,” she began carefully, “I don’t eat, because… I… I like feeling… empty. Hollow. …Like there’s nothing inside my rib cage.” Almost jokingly, she pretended to knock on her side. “I don’t know if you’d understand it, but there’s something so reassuring about not eating. Of course you get hunger pains and that sorta stuff, but when it’s not happening you get to float around all light like… like an angel. There’s no weight anywhere in your body. You’re practically invisible. And it’s so, so, so, so…” with every ‘so’, (Y/N) was brought closer to tears. “It’s so sick, that it’s so good.”  
Daniel considered this carefully, and pressed her even closer into their hug, smoothing down her disheveled hair and pulling her onto his lap. “I know you’re afraid that I don’t understand.”  
90%.  
“But I do.”  
70%.  
“And I think it’s a warning sign,” he went on. “Something’s making you unhappy and you’re trying to solve the issue by making yourself feel better this way. Maybe it’s not about your weight, because that seems to be the most common symptom of eating disorders, worrying constantly about weight—” —She didn’t like that he’d been cross referencing her feelings with several threads on disorders, did she?— “—but it is most assuredly a side effect of something else. So tell me, (Y/N), what’s been bothering you?”  
“A lot of things that I’m sure you wouldn’t care about,” She closed her eyes, begging herself not to cry, not to fall into those soulful stormy pools of blue.  
He tapped her on the head lightly. “Bad thinking. Of course I care. Of course I’ll listen.”  
There was a moment of silence. Then she spoke.  
“I am so sick of being alone,” She lamented sorrowfully. “I’m so sick of being alive. What good does it do me to be here? Martha says I’m here because I have a purpose but as far as my knowledge of the universe goes, things happen for no reason, and I could have been placed randomly. Maybe my purpose is to live and to kill myself because I can’t fucking find a reason to live.” (Y/N) drew a rib-shattering gasp and buried her face in her knees again. “And I know, I know, I know I shouldn’t miss him! Goddammit, I know that! That doesn’t help! I’ll never stop missing him!”  
Momentarily, Daniel searched his memory file for information Dr. Santiago had given him.

'Monophobia - the fear of being alone  
Was abandoned in a very precarious emotional state by a previous lover  
Anxiety  
Developing paranoia (?)  
Developing eating disorder (?)  
Occasionally has fits, bouts of self-loathing  
Hides everything she can; will not look you in the eye  
Suicidal ideation  
I have considered putting her in the hospital for these, most of which she does not seem to have any control over. Every time I mention it to her, she shuts up and doesn’t let anything out. Unhealthy coping mechanisms. Maybe you can help her.  
You are her last hope. If this doesn’t work, she’s got to go to the ward.'

“It’s okay to hurt,” Daniel murmured, tucking her head under his chin. “It’s okay to cry. Sometimes the truth hurts, especially if it’s goodbye.”  
“Poet, now, huh?” She managed through sobs.  
“Yes, I suppose so.” He smiled ruefully. “An honest poet. I wish…” He paused, gauging her possible reactions.  
“You wish what?” Her voice was watery and she wouldn’t look up, but she was curious.  
“I wish you wouldn’t talk so easily about your own death.” Daniel combed his fingers through her hair as she let out a quiet but broken “oh,” and cried some more.  
“But I also wish you could see what you’ve done for me.”  
Silence. Some sniffles.  
“You’ve given me a purpose all on your own,” He went on. “A house to live in and to take care of. And even better, you let me take care of you.”  
“I’m so ungrateful,” She whispered to herself. Daniel heard.  
“Frankly, I think the opposite. You’re about as grateful and amicable as they come.” He scratched gentle circles on her shoulders and was glad to see her come away from herself and curl up to him instead. “You’ve let me into your home, not knowing a thing about me. You’ve opened yourself up to judgment. You’ve given me a beautiful room to sleep in, even though technically I can’t sleep, and you keep me company. And you rescue me, countless times, from nightmares I have no control over.” Daniel smiled as softly as he could as she peered up at him with shining, melancholic (e/c) eyes. “You may not be the best human, but for what it’s worth, you’re my favorite human.”  
In the next moment she had him trapped in a bear hug, crying uncontrollably into his shoulder. Through broken sobs and stuttering gasps, she got out the words,  
“You’re—you’re my—Daniel, you’re my fa-favorite android! I’m sorry, so sorry—”  
He shushed her gently. “Don’t apologize.”  
“Sorry,” she said, then winced.  
“That one was okay,” He laughed a bit, and was overjoyed when she smiled back through her tears.  
“Thank you,” she whispered in his ear.  
“It’s alright. Whatever helps you hold on just a little while longer.” The corner of his lip twitched up in the memory of the android revolution. Markus’s voice echoed in his head.  
'Hold on, just a little while longer…'  
“Oh, I know that song,” (Y/N) spoke quietly. “That one—the android leader Markus sang it, didn’t he?”  
“He did.” Daniel hugged her closer. “And I’m hoping we can hold on together. We can, can’t we?”  
She nodded, and smiled the biggest she had in weeks.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed <3 Let me know what I can do better!


End file.
